


played your song and then you were gone

by areyoumarriedriver



Series: Smut All the Episodes [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The instant he realises, really, truly realises, he is torn between elation and fear. She is about to regenerate.  [6x08]</p>
            </blockquote>





	played your song and then you were gone

**_played your song and then you were gone_ **

The instant he realises,  _really, truly_ realises, he is torn between elation and fear. She is about to regenerate. He can feel the energy exuding from within her before it even begins to show on her skin. It is heavy and heady and slides through the air to wrap around him, time, time, time and space.  He breathes it in and shoots a panicked look at Amy and Rory. They’re human, and they’ll never survive this.

“Back, back, back, get back!” He pulls them desperately toward the TARDIS, flinging open the door as noxious gas pours out. “Extractor fans on!” The fans whir to life and he pauses in surprise, “Oh that worked!” He shoves Amy and Rory through the doors. “You can’t be close, it’ll kill you.”

Amy clutches to the doorframe, glaring at him. “What in the  _hell_  is going on? What will kill us?”

“Last time I did this, I ended up a toddler in the middle of New York.” Mels has risen behind him and he closes his eyes, his hearts squeezing at the thought. Melody Pond. River Song. Oh what has he  _done_  to her?

“Doctor, explain!” Amy still refuses to budge and he drops his head before glaring up at her.

“ _Mels_. Short for...”

“Melody.” Mels – not for much longer oh oh – he wonders if she will be someone new – how many new someones before she is  _his_  River? He is elated. And terrified.  _She can regenerate_. He grins and Amy frowns in confusion.

“Yeah, I named my daughter for her.”

“No Amy,” the Doctor looks at her seriously, “you named your daughter, after  _your daughter_.” Both Amy and Rory look up in confusion, to see her standing in the middle of the room behind him, and he can see the gold energy reflected in their eyes.

“She’s Melody?” Amy whispers, looking down at him in shock, her hands loosening from the doorframe.

“And if you’re too close, the regeneration energy can kill you.” The Doctor points out before shoving them both into the TARDIS forcibly and yanking the door shut. He sonics the lock and turns to watch as she enters into the final throes of regeneration. Unshockingly, she’s a screamer. The thought makes him grin even as he sprints around the room, making preparations.

 _A child is not a weapon_!

But he’s failed her in  _so,_  so many ways already. When he is finished his task, he leans against the desk, watching with wonder and awe as her head snaps back and all that hair just...  _springs_  forth. “River.” He whispers her name in awe, because he hadn’t  _known_. He’d never known – oh god, if only he’d  _known_. All those times – all those times he’s met her and-

“Well then. Let’s see shall we?” She seems almost startled by her own new voice and he watches with wide eyes as she performs checks he is achingly familiar with. She runs her hands over her own body and his mouth feels dry as he watches, which is  _weird_ , because he isn’t thirsty. He cannot help but track her hands as they slide over her hips though, he’s never had a chance to properly appreciate the shape of River, because it is, frankly,  _quite_  a lovely form. “ _Oh_.” Her eyes light up as she notices his interest and he flushes, looking away for a split second before he looks back. He cannot stop  _looking_  at her. Brand new. His River, all  _brand new_ , with the resonance of fresh regeneration energy rolling off of her in palatable waves. “It’s all going on down there, isn’t it?” She is wide-eyed with wonder and he can barely fight back a grin, because he knows what is about to happen. She is and isn’t River. She is River, but not yet and she has been brain-washed and who knew what else, conditioned for one purpose.

To kill him.

But she is  _River_. That hair and those eyes and his entire being automatically responds to her on so many levels. The smell of her, wafting through the air, the look of her, freshly aglow and still healing, the image of her. He watches as her hands bury themselves in her hair and his hearts beat faster in response. “The  _hair_! The hair! It just doesn’t stop does it?” She moves over to the mirror and looks at her reflection eagerly, eyes scanning her own face. It is a heady thing, watching someone fall in love with their own visage. It’s something he hasn’t seen for years and years and years. “Look at that!” She tilts her head, curls brushing her shoulders gently. “ _Everything_ changes. Oh but I  _love_  it.” She smiles and turns to face him with a grin. “I’m all sorts of  _mature_.” Her voice drops low, so close to his River that he feels a shiver run through him at the sound, and his hands grip each other as he stands there and watches her adjust.

It is all so very heady in a way he cannot quite explain, but he loves it too. The thrill of it races through him. She can  _regenerate_. And that changes everything – everything. How he met her, everything he ever knew – she is more Timelord than human and it sends a million million ideas bursting through his synapses, like rapid fire.

She swings a leg up on an overturned chair, her gaze suddenly zeroing in on him. “ _Hello_ , Benjamin.” She is trying to draw his eye and distract him he knows, but he’s already handled that so he allows his eyes to be drawn. He is vaguely aware of Amy and Rory, pounding on the locked TARDIS doors, but he filters the sound out and watches her as she smiles as if she knows  _exactly_  what she is doing to him. How she is affecting him.

“The teeth!” She runs a tongue over her mouth and looks back at the mirror, clicking her jaw. “The teeth! Oh the teeth! Look at them.” She is running toward him now, hair bouncing and...  _everything_  bouncing and he backs up until he hits the edge of the desk. She is  _right_ there, pressing against him, all soft River curves as she looks at him expectantly. “Watch out that bowtie!” Her voice is teasing, and his hands somehow automatically rise to grip her waist, the fabric of her dress silky under his palms. She seems to startle at this reaction, pressing in closer to him, close enough that he can feel her breath on his chin and she is still snap, crackling and popping with so much regeneration energy, he can practically  _see_  it beneath her skin.

He feels a sudden urge to taste it, run his tongue along her throat and lick the energy clean from her skin. His mouth waters and he swallows. “Oh my, Doctor, you like this don’t you? Cat got your tongue?” She is purring into his ear, pressing herself in between his legs until she can feel just how much he likes it for herself.

She is and is not River. He repeats it over and over in his head but his body is  _clearly_  not listening. The hands at her waist are sliding down, over her hips and around behind her as he challenges the flirtatious light in her eyes. She doesn’t know him, not in any accurate, unbiased way but he can see the interest and heat flare within her eyes as she studies him carefully. “Oh, maybe you have a  _thing_  for cougars, then?”

He frowns in confusion, wondering what cats have to do with anything, but she is pressing her hands against his hips, pushing him further back onto the desk –  _Hitler’s desk_! his mind giggles inappropriately – before she drags her nails along the length of his thighs. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes the words out, his hands lifting to trace her brand new face, skin still humming under his fingertips and he smiles. “Gorgeous.”

Her skin flushes and he wonders at it, his fingers dragging along her jaw and down her throat. He’s never seen her blush, ever before. But she is young and so new. She swallows, the muscles under his fingers constricting tightly before relaxing and he licks his lips. “Oh sod it,” she mutters before her hands reach up to bury themselves in his hair as she drags his mouth to hers.

The kiss is heady, enthralling, amazing. It is her learning herself all over again, soft lips and a bit too much teeth before she understands, backing off and brushing her tongue inside of his mouth languidly. She is  _learning_  and he shivers, his hands against her throat, sliding up to cradle her face carefully as he kisses her back – it is the first time he’s ever been the more experienced one, and the rush of that power as he curls his tongue in that way she likes and she moans involuntarily into his mouth is intoxicating. Combining with the fact that she tastes like time and space and energy – she bursts across his tongue all sweet and tart and it makes his mouth water for want of  _more_.

His hands move to her hair – her  _hair_  – it really does never end and she hums against his mouth, pulling back long enough to breathe heavily by his ear, her hips pressing forward in almost but not quite enough amounts of friction. She seems to agree because she is climbing on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips and he thinks he  _should_  protest – she is not River, she is not his. Yet. – but then she sinks into his lap and there is delicious pressure everywhere as she licks at the shell of his ear and rolls her hips over his. “Only makes sense to  _fully_  explore my brand new body, right, Doctor?” Another grind of her hips over his and he whimpers, his hands tightening in her hair.

“ _Oh_ , Ri-” He bites his own tongue as she trails her tongue down along the side of his neck. Her teeth scrape along the skin and he shivers, his hands sliding out of her hair and down over her back until he can grip her backside, pulling her against him harder. She is not his River. She is not his River. She is not his-

She bites down on the tendon in his neck, the one she  _always_  bites down on – and his hips buck up into her, his fingers tightening their grip as she moans against his skin.

“Come on then, Benjamin,” her voice is a breathy pant against his ear, a challenge and she is all over him, hands slipping under his coat to lay her cool but still buzzing hands against his shirt. “Show me what you’ve got. You  _did_ promise to marry me. This is a marriage... of a  _sort_.” Her voice is the same, and she talks like River, sounds like her, and this could be anyplace really, he thinks. It is not like this hasn’t happened before between them on their nightly jaunts. Adventure and action, life and death situations, his River is all about pushing him against the nearest flat surface for some relief of tension.

His mind is protesting still, it oddly feels like he is being disloyal to River, but obviously she knows what happens here – what happened for her, and no one quite understands like he does that even though she isn’t his River she is still  _River_. Melody Pond. His... well, just  _his_ , really. His hands however, seem to be ignoring his mind and pulling the silky fabric of her dress up, slipping underneath so he can stroke the bare skin of her back as she rolls her hips over him once more, her hands abandoning their post to bury themselves in his hair as she tilts his mouth back up to hers.

She learns fast, because she is already doing that thing with her tongue that makes him- his fingers dig into the soft flesh of her back and she pushes down against him with a moan, her mouth sliding over his with more ease this time. He can never think properly when she kisses him – it’s like his brain short circuits and so when she pulls back to raise her arms above her head, he is genuinely surprised to see that his hands are lifting her dress over her body with intent. When he pauses, she simply reaches down and removes the rest herself; all but spilling out of the black bra she is in. Mels was decidedly....  _smaller_  in that area apparently. He grins in appreciation, his hands resting against her ribs as he bends his head down to trace his tongue along her clavicle, down over her sternum until he is burying his face between her breasts, nipping and sucking as she writhes against him.

“Doctor,” her voice is high pitched and breathy, and he smiles against her skin, sucking a little harder this time. She groans in frustration, scrambling back from his lap just long enough to stand in front of him, her hands shoving his coat from his shoulders. She doesn’t bother with anything else, reaching behind her back and unclasping her bra before tossing it aside and his gaze darkens – clearly she’s just  _never_  been shy a day in her life. She kicks her boots off and they slide across the floor and she peels her leggings and knickers off in one go.

His breathing stutters a bit at this point, because she is – always has been – simply gorgeous in shape. Shoulders that decline into a tiny little waist that flares out into absolutely stunning hips – everything about her has curves. Her hair, the line of her throat, her body, no matter what angle. She runs her own hands over her skin, shivering and he watches, mouth going dry as she slowly turns. He loves her back – the curve of her waist and the line of her spine, the dip by her hips that his hands fit into just  _perfectly._

“Oh, so lovely.” His voice is low as he mutters and she glances over her shoulder, her expression flirtatious and  _so_  reminiscent of his River that he almost weeps at it. Instead his hand reaches out, tracing fingertips along the curve of her spine as she shivers. He stands and moves behind her, bending to press a kiss to her shoulder – she is so much shorter barefoot, and he has always loved that extra stoop he has to add to his frame to reach her.  She is still running her own hands over her skin, her eyes bright with delight.

“Everything’s so much firmer than I thought, given the age, you know. Maybe I did that, I was thinking about my dress size.” She shrugs and he watches over her shoulder as her fingers swirl across her breasts, pinching her own nipples and shivering a bit before her fingers walk down her own abdomen, until they tangle in the curls at the apex of her thighs. “So many new things to learn,” she murmurs as her hand disappears between her own thighs and he seems to have lost the ability to do anything but stare at her. “Do I like it soft and gentle, or a bit rough? What spots turn me on? Do I have any unique ones?” She does, and he knows them all.  Her left wrist, just below her right ear, her back, just between her shoulder blades, the base of her spine, behind her knees, that spot two inches above her hip bones. He twitches, wanting to teach her them all. But she doesn’t know that he knows any of this, and he can’t tell her.

“Spoilers.” The word slips out on its own and she licks her lips, turning her head and frowning up at him.

“Spoilers? What’s spoilers?” He doesn’t respond, kissing her instead, his hands taking the same path hers had just travelled, down to every minute swirl of her fingers and she moans, her fingers tangling with his when he finally arrives at her destination.  Her skin is soft and slick as he helps her press her fingers against her clit, harder and harder until he pushes them just left and  _there_ , she jerks in his arms, her backside pressing into his painfully tight trousers. He pushes their hands further down with a moan, curling her fingers inside of herself and showing her all of those secret spots hidden within her that he knows by hearts now.

She gasps in his arms, her back pressed against him and her chest heaving as he helps her work herself higher and higher. She shivers and pants against him before shoving herself away and untangling their fingers so she can turn in his arms. “Not yet, not – not yet. What about partners, do you think Doctor?” Her voice is careless and he closes his eyes against the reminder.

She is not River.

“Will I prefer men? Women?” She arches a brow suggestively, her hands tugging his braces down and walking him backwards once again until he is pinned against the desk. Her hands slides down over the front of his shirt and she palms his erection with a smug grin. “ _Well_ , perhaps not.” She grins, leaning forward to take his bowtie in her teeth, tugging until it loosens. Her nails drag along the buttons of his shirt, clicking against the plastic but ignoring them as she tugs the tails out from his trousers. “And what  _type_  of men do you suppose I’ll like?” She is giggling as she unbuttons his trousers, sliding the zipper down and  shoving his trousers and pants low enough that his erection springs forth and she grins in delight, shoving him back into a sitting position on the desk. She looks up at him and traces a fingertip across his face. “Tall, gangly ones, all cheekbones and hair? Maybe I’ll like them more muscled. Maybe I won’t care at all so long as they compare favourably to  _this_.” She drops her hand to grip his straining erection and his fingers curl around the edge of the desk, one hand still damp from her folds.

She bends at the waist, her face so close to him he can feel her breath against overly sensitive skin and he twitches in her hand. She licks the tip experimentally. “Do tastes change? I’ve never liked this before but I feel the oddest urge to just... swallow you whole.” Her eyes flick up to meet his and he swallows roughly.

“Tastes can change, yes.”

“So many  _new_  discoveries,” she murmurs before making good on her word and sliding her mouth down over his length. It takes almost everything within him to not come at just the feel of it. Not just her mouth, but the energy is still thrumming through every  _cell_  of her and he can feel it licking at him, licking at his skin. His hands grip the desk tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until white knuckles actually take on a faint greenish tinge as she moves her mouth slowly up and down, experimenting with different positions for her tongue, trying to find one that suits her. His groan is guttural when she finds what he knows to be her favourite, tongue snaking around his length, curled and tightening as she moves her head in even strokes. He is aware of a heavy thumping, almost like a baseline of music, but she sweeps the curl of her tongue around his circumference and all rational thought flies out of his head. His hands fly up, burying in her hair and she hums in excitement when they fist and pull at the curls just the slightest bit.

She comes up for air, her mouth glistening as she takes a deep breath.  He pulls her in, kissing her automatically, lips wet, mouth swollen – how could he resist? He hums against her lips, licking the taste of himself and energy from the inside of her mouth as her hands fist in his shirt. She is busy popping buttons when they part, nails scratching across his chest as she laughs breathlessly. “I quite enjoyed it actually. Everything is different, or maybe it’s  _you_.” She stops, her hands stilling over both his hearts and she bites her lip, looking uncertain for a moment.

She takes his hands in hers and rests them against her own chest, just above her breasts. “You’re like me.” She whispers, shaking her head as if to clear it before meeting his gaze.

“We fit.” He says simply, because she is so young he cannot scare her or even begin to explain just  _how_  much she means to him.  And how much he  _will_  mean to her. It’s what lets him love her, even now when she hasn’t a clue.  Just like she would love him when her turn came. Her moment of vulnerability slides off of her like water rolling off a duck’s back. She smirks instead, climbing up onto him once again, her smile smug and his hands still over her hearts.

“Let’s see how well, hmm?” She slides against him, all wet and slick against his length, and they both moan at the almost but not quite bliss of it all. When she lifts her hips and he slides within her, his hands drop to grip her hips tightly. “Mmmmm. Quite well.”

“Bespoke,” he offers instead and she flushes, a blush spreading up from her chest, onto her neck and face. She doesn’t offer a response however, she simply grips his shoulders, her hands fisting in the cotton of his shirt as she begins to move, pushing down against his frame for leverage. His hands slide around to grip her arse, fingers biting and spreading her further apart as she moans.

“Oh god  _yes_ , I like it a little bit rough don’t I?” He huffs out a laugh, because he has to bite his tongue to not mention handcuffs and how she just has no idea just how much she likes the feel of metal biting around her wrists. She’ll learn. He’ll teach her. But right now she is rushing over him, her movements rapid and her head tilted back and he has to let just one hand slide up over her back to fist in her hair, tugging just enough to keep her frame taut above him, her chest arched out. He lowers his head, kissing and nipping at her throat as his hands still push and pull, encouraging her to move and move faster. His tongue is flat against her throat and he can still taste the energy, sizzling under her skin. If he closes his eyes and feels past the slick heat of her wrapped around him, he can feel it there too and he pushes and pulls at her frantically, desperate for release, but feeling a need to drive her over the edge first.

One of her hands drops between them, pressing against her own clit, her knuckles brushing against his belly and he murmurs encouragement, dipping his head to bite at her clavicle, licking along her sweat dampened skin eagerly. “Oh god,  _yes_ ,  _there there there_ -” she chants as she squeezes around him, her frame flying up and above him, her eyes wide open as she wrenches from his grasp to look down at him, her eyes dark and green and he feels his own release draw up and tighten and burst forth.

“ _River_.” He moans the name into her neck and she stiffens over him before scrambling off of him, her legs still shaking as she snatches her clothes and boots from the floor and clutches them to her chest, whirling to look at him. He is still blinking in a daze, leaning back on the desk – oh god he’s just had sex on  _Hitler’s desk_  – and he somehow knows that the next time he sees River, she will laugh greatly with him about this, despite the fact that she is now glaring at him as if she wishes he could die from the power of her gaze alone.

“ _Mels_.” She spits the name out and he flinches, because no, no she is not Mels. Mels is brain washed, a trained killer – trained to kill him but she hadn’t. Not yet. She is  _not_  Mels. He shakes his head and she huffs, before fleeing over to a side room that leads to what is presumably the loo. Sighing, he drops his head into his hands for a moment, allowing himself exactly ten seconds of recrimination over what he’s just done.

“Idiot. Stupid, stupid thick Doctor, you know better.  _Stupid_.” He stands, jerking his shirt closed and buttoning it with hands that shake. He straightens the rest of his clothes, ties his bowtie and smoothes his hair and she still hasn’t come out and he becomes aware of that odd thumping noise again. He frowns, glancing around as he shrugs into his coat and glances at the TARDIS.

The TARDIS.

With the Ponds still locked inside.

“Oh  _stupid stupid stupid_ Doctor.” He licks his lips nervously before moving over to the door. Maybe River wouldn’t even  _have_  to kill him. Her parents might do it for her, free of charge and no brain washing involved. Cautiously he opens the door and thunderous music pours out of the console room. Amy and Rory are sitting on the stairs, their hands over their ears and glaring bloody murder at him.

The music stops suddenly and he strokes the wooden doorframe in thanks. His old girl. Bless her heart. “Ah, sorry about that, um, she’s regenerated.” The glares drop and Amy and Rory immediately stand.

“Is she okay? Does it always take that long? Or did something go wrong, tell us Doctor.” Amy is already shoving past him into the room, Rory quick on her heels. The Doctor sags with relief at the notion that they have no plausible idea how long regeneration  _takes_. He latches on to the excuse and walks toward them, holding his hands out calmly.

“She’s fine-”

“Does it hurt?” Rory asks with a frown and the Doctor pauses, glancing at the other man carefully.

“It’s dying and changing everything about your molecular cell structure Rory.”

“Oh god, that sounds terrible.” Rory whispers, clutching Amy’s hand. “Well who is she now though? Is she someone else? Or is it River Song?”

“Who’s River Song?” River has popped back into the room when no one is looking and they whirl to face her. Her expression is hard, her eyes like pale grey flint now and the Doctor sighs.

“Spoilers.”

“ _What exactly_  are spoilers?” She asks again and he shakes his head, unable to answer her. She glares at him, a fierce pain and just a bit of hurt in her expression. “Fine,” she snaps, “don’t tell me.” She rubs her lips together, now a pale pink shade and suddenly she pulls out a gun, pointing it at him. “Well then, let’s get down to business.”

Amy and Rory flinch behind him, but he smiles and he can see the confusion clouding her eyes. “Oh hello. I thought we were getting married?” He can see her confusion and the tension in her frame as she walks out of the doorway, gun trained on him.

“I told you, I’m not a wedding person.” She repeats,  and Amy and Rory hover behind him, staring at her aghast.

“What are you doing?” Rory asks her, and River simply shrugs, looking at him instead.

“What she was programmed to do, Rory.” The Doctor finally speaks and River simply smiles, pulling the trigger several times, empty clicks echoing throughout the room. “ _Hello Benjamin_.”

“You noticed, did you?” She arches a brow and tosses the gun aside with a smirk.

“Of course I did. Tidied up a bit when I knew you were coming.” The double meaning of his words aren’t lost on her, and she glares, her face going hard once more. Oh she was so  _angry_  with him, so jealous of herself. She lunges for the desk, turning with the second gun in her hands, firing more empty rounds. He smiles, fishing the bullet clip out of his pocket and blowing on it.

“Goodness, is killing you going to take all day?” She is keeping her voice light but he can see the tremor in the hand that grips the weapon.

“Why? You busy? Let’s have dinner.” He suggests instead and her eyes flare with anger.

“Oh I’m not complaining.” She reiterates and he grins.

“You could have just killed me in the cornfield, you know.”

“We’d only just met. I’m a psychopath, I’m not  _rude_.” She speaks blithely and his hearts ache at the sound of her voice, speaking so carelessly.  _She is not his River_. He glares down at himself, as if to suggest that they could have all heeded that mantra much earlier.

“You are  _not_  a psychopath!” Amy exclaims, finally moving forward before glancing helplessly at the Doctor. “Why is she saying that?”

“Oh Mummy, Mummy,  _pay attention_.” She glides forward, circling around him with intent in her eyes, and so much anger. He looks, but all he can see is the fresh pain. “I was trained and conditioned for one purpose. I was born to kill the Doctor.” Her voice was empty and he flinches at the sound, guilt bubbling up within him as he shoots a glance at Amy quickly, before looking back to River. Best not to take his eyes off of her.

“Demon’s Run, remember? This is what they were building. My  _bespoke_  psychopath.” Her jaw tightens at the word and she steps in closer, so close her chest brushes against his.

“I’m all yours sweetie.” She breathes out and he flinches at the endearment. It is devoid of any of its usual warmth and meaning and for once he lets her get the better of him.

“Only River Song gets to call me that.” He insists softly and her eyes flare with anger once more.

“And  _who’s_  River Song?” She all but spits the name out and he smiles.

“An old  _friend_ of mine.” He answers her promptly and she blinks rapidly, her mouth tightening.

“Yeah? Well it’s a  _stupid_  name.” She moves forward, her hand sliding to the back of his head and pulling him in for a fierce kiss. Her teeth bite against him through his closed lips and she releases him as soon as she can, stepping back and moving over to the window. He stands, his vision woozy and he curses inwardly.

Fresh pink  _lipstick_  and he really  _is_  the universe’s most stupid genius. She’s saying something, but he’s concentrating on trying to stay upright as a dull tingling enters all his limbs. She looks back over her shoulder just as he feels his left heart give way, and he jerks, clutching a hand to his chest. “River!”

“Oh, River, River,  _River_.” She mocks him from the window ledge – and when had she climbed up there? “ _More_ than a  _friend_ , I’d think.” Her voice is bitter and he swallows heavily. “It was never going to be a gun for you, Doctor dear. The man of  _peace_.” She spits the words out like shrapnel and they fly into his skin as he watches any hint of River disappear before his very eyes. It hurts worse than the actual poison, he thinks. “Who understands every form of warfare, except perhaps, the cruellest.”She looks at him, her face devoid of emotion and he thinks it may kill his other heart. “Kiss, kiss.” She blows him a kiss before jumping down and he finally lets his legs give way under him.

“Go after her.” He urges the Ponds, but they hover and  _cling_  to him, because they don’t understand  _anything_  about what is happening here. Time is unwinding, he can  _feel_  it like loose threads of gossamer silk, slipping through his fingers. He will  _not_  lose her. “Take this.” He shoves the sonic into Amy’s hands, somehow managing to stand and grip Rory’s shoulder. “Go after her. Go!” He shouts the last bit and Rory nods in understanding, following after River. Amy, stubborn, waiting Amelia, remains behind.

“What about you? What’s she done to you?”

“Nothing. Well, poisoned me, but I’ll be fine. No. I’m dying, but you have to go after River.” He pushes her away and stumbles over to the TARDIS doors.

“I don’t understand, she was gonna marry you and now she’s murdering you?”

“Brain washing, did I mention that bit?” He grinds out, shoving Amy away.  “Now  _go_. I’ll lock onto your signal and come to you so signal me once you find her Amy. Go – she’s your  _daughter_.”

“Yeah and you’re my best friend and she’s  _your..._  whatever.” He grips the collar of her coat, hauling her in closely.

“Yes, she is, she will be. But not if we don’t  _save_  her. She needs us, Amy. You wanted your daughter, well there she is. Go  _help_  her.” Amy blinks, tears in her eyes before she nods.

“But what about you then?”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be better than fine, I’ll be the King of fine!” He assures her manically, and she nods, wiping at her eyes before fleeing after her husband and daughter. He stumbles through the TARDIS doors, shutting them with a snap.

They’d laugh about this when he next sees her, he thinks determinedly . Tomorrow. He’ll go and see her tomorrow – no not tomorrow, too long.  _Tonight_. And she’ll make it better. He lurches up the stairs to the console.

He just has to do this one thing first – rescue her, don’t die – okay  _two_  things first, and then he will go see her.

Tonight.


End file.
